A Merry Christmas Indeed
by stayathomemum
Summary: It's Christmas Eve 1987. Tony invites Angela to Midnight Mass and she has some not-so-holy-thoughts about Tony.


**_Christmas Eve 1987_**

The church was packed for Midnight Mass. Tony had parked quite a distance from the entrance; all the Christmas pilgrims competing for a good parking spot had resulted in a mess of skewed cars, double parked, with angry horns blaring. Felt like they were gearing up for Black Friday sales rather than celebrating the birth of their Savior. We ended up walking over from the adjacent, spill-over lot which is really just a flat, unpaved surface that nobody uses. Nobody cleans it either; I practically went flying on an icy patch but Tony caught me, his strong arms securely wrapped around my waist to keep me from falling. Good thing it was dark out or he would have seen me blush. He even kept one arm around me until we arrived at the church doors. Perhaps he was worried that I'd slip again, or maybe he simply relished the feeling of closeness. I wasn't going to complain; leaning into him helped ward off some of the brittle wind slicing through my coat. We must have appeared to be a couple to those around us and that pleased me immensely for reasons I couldn't quite articulate.

Once inside, I looked around the Catholic Church in awe. Colourfully ornate stained glass windows, a high cathedral ceiling, and a fantastical Christmas tree right at the front mesmerised me. The tree was decorated with a million tiny lights twinkling and sparkling in the illumination of the Advent candles. It was magnificent and larger than life, nothing like the counterfeit glossy holiday advertisements I'd worked on. The life-sized crèche at the foot of the tree fooled me for a moment and I mistook the plaster figures for real people and gasped in surprise before realizing that the Virgin Mary's face wouldn't have paint peeling off of it. It really was just for a millisecond. I'm not Catholic in the least; I was raised Presbyterian. Unlike Tony, I haven't particularly internalized my religion or faith. But when Tony asked me to come to Midnight Mass and share an important aspect of his Christmas tradition, I felt honoured and special. Of course I agreed.

"Whaddy'a think, Angela? Does this feel like Christmas, or what?" Tony asked me, a proud grin on his face.

"Oooh Tony, it's lovely. Thank you for bringing me tonight. I've never been to Midnight Mass before. It's beautiful", I replied. He looked pleased with himself when I told him that. He'd wanted to take me to an authentic Brooklyn Midnight Mass last year but I'd had to decline because of Geoffrey. It had saddened me to spend Christmas apart from Tony and Samantha last year but Geoffrey had been my boyfriend. I couldn't very well tell him that I preferred spending Christmas with my housekeeper. Mother had been honest though, and had certainly enjoyed a much better dinner than I had. Still, Tony had taken pity on me eating dry turkey and we'd wolfed down leftovers in the kitchen after the kids had gone to bed. I cherished that memory from last year's holidays most of all.

"Come on, Angela, let's find a seat up close", he said as we carefully manoeuvered our way through a sea of slow moving old folks. I followed him closely, not wanting to be separated by the crowd. From my vantage point behind him, I had a great view of his firm butt. The thought came unbidden to me and I tried not to giggle at the thought of Tony's ass during midnight mass. Lustful longings usually floated into my head like thought captions in a cartoon. Without warning, one would suddenly _*pop*,_ a hovering circle above my head with images of a shirtless Tony, Tony in the shower, Tony . . .

"Here Angela!" Tony woke me out of my sensual reverie and ushered me into the fourth pew from the front. Now I had a great view of everything, except his ass.

I looked over at him; we were sitting very closely together, pressed in by faithful attendees wearing thick coats. The scent of his aftershave combined with the fragrance of wafting incense was a heady combination; I unconsciously leaned more closely towards him to breathe him in. Ever since I'd admitted my feelings to Dr. Bellows three months ago, I was more aware of his physical presence, his strength and masculinity. Not that I hadn't been aware before but now I knew that I LOVED him and wasn't going to delude myself into thinking that my feelings were purely platonic. I was done lying to myself but telling Tony was another story. I'd tried, been interrupted and lost my nerve. If only I had more insight about his feelings towards me, but on that subject he remained a closed book. That he cared about me and enjoyed our friendship, I didn't doubt. But was he attracted to me? It was hard to tell and I didn't want to push him and risk scaring him off. So, I cherished what we had and smiled at him.

"It's a shame that the children didn't want to come tonight", I said. Samantha and Jonathan had preferred to stay home and watch holiday movies with Mother.

"It's their loss, Angela", he turned to me and shook his head in slight frustration. "I was hoping we could all enjoy this together, as a family. But I would have needed a crowbar to get 'em away from that TV."

"Don't be upset with them, Tony", I pleaded with him. It wasn't good for him to be annoyed with the children on Christmas Eve. "You know, I haven't exactly been diligent in bringing Jonathan to church on a regular basis. He's hardly ever been." I made excuses for my eleven-year old son but felt quite guilty about the lack of any formal religious education he'd received.

"Yeah well Samantha should have wanted to go. Midnight Mass was part of her childhood." Tony sighed and began glancing around the church. "Look Angela," he pointed out enthusiastically, forgetting about the children. My eyes followed to where he was pointing. _Papier mache_ angels were descending from the ceiling, resting near the giant spruce tree. It was an impressive display. But I was more interested in Tony's childlike glee and the joyful sparkle in his dark eyes. His delight was contagious and I found myself unable to stop smiling.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he confirmed. I nodded at him and drew a deep breath when he leaned in towards me. For a crazy moment, I thought he was going to kiss me but instead, he just whispered, "I hope old Mrs. Santori isn't singing in the choir tonight. Her loud tuneless caterwauling makes all the other singers go off-key. Really ruins _O Holy Night_", he confided in me conspiratorially.

"I imagine it would ruin _Silent Night_ even more", I deadpanned back to him. He raised his eyebrows, perhaps surprised that I would joke with him, and let out a throaty chuckle. "Good one, Angela." I fairly beamed with pride. I always loved impressing him with an unexpected comment. And volleying comments back and forth was part of our mental intercourse. _Discourse_. I meant discourse.

As I was silently chiding myself, the priest came out to greet us all. He was quite elderly and stooped but his youthful eyes were like shiny blue marbles of happiness. Tony smiled and watched attentively, like a little boy in class. He was in his element and even though I was not, just being with him made me feel comfortable and content. Tony didn't have to spend Christmas with me; it was technically time off work for him, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Sure, he'd go to Brooklyn and see his buddies before New Year's but he always came home and we always ate together as a family. It was more than I'd ever had with Michael. Well, except for sex. But if Tony and I had sex too, then our _virtual _marriage would be akin to perfection. My mind seemed to want to wander to the bedroom every now and again but tonight, it was being particularly undisciplined. I forced myself to concentrate on the service, which had now begun and reigned in my thoughts. I needed to concentrate on what the priest was saying, think about the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus and not on how my breast had just brushed up against Tony's arm while I was taking my coat off. He helped me position the coat behind me, in a gentlemanly fashion. If he'd noticed a breast against his shoulder, he didn't show it. Of course, through his suit jacket, it was unlikely that he felt anything at all considering how small chested I am. No, no, no! I needed to think about the service.

My thoughts were brought back to the Mass when the children came out to perform. I clapped enthusiastically after they'd finished singing _Jingle Bells_. The preschoolers up at the front were particularly adorable; one little boy kept pointing to the _papier mache_ angels in awe and a sweet red-headed girl was hiding behind him, no doubt suffering from stage fright. They were so cute that my biological clock started clanging loudly right then and there. I jumped up a bit, wondering if Tony had heard it, but he was immersed in the children's performance. How I wanted another baby. Ever since we'd babysat baby Clint for a few days, with Jonathan's old bassinet sitting in the living room and his highchair back in the kitchen, I'd felt a baby-craving, which was at least ten times worse than my monthly craving for chocolate. The memory of Tony holding Clint and making silly faces at him simply gutted me. It made my uterus ache with longing. I drew a sharp breath and forced myself to tune out my baby lust; it wasn't time for an internal episode of For Whom the Womb Tolls. I turned to watch Tony now, his eyes gleamed with enjoyment as he watched the little pageant. He smiled at me, then leaned in again to whisper "How cute are those kids, Angela? When Sam was little, she used to perform in this same toddler concert. I should show you the pictures but she'd probably die of embarrassment."

"I'd love to see pictures of Sam at that age!" And I meant it. Samantha's life before she came to live with me was a bit of a tragic mystery to me. I now considered her my child as much as Jonathan and greedily pounced on any tidbit of information about her early childhood. Sam was fifteen now and seemed to be in a hurry to reach adulthood, always asserting her independence. Jonathan only three and a bit years behind her was growing up fast too. Would Tony stay when Samantha was in college? I chewed my lip nervously at the thought of him ever leaving and desperately wished we had something more solid than a job and a friendship holding us together. What if he left Jonathan one day? The thought made my stomach churn uneasily. Oh great, as if it wasn't bad enough to have lustful thoughts in church, now I was having my "three in the morning, toss and turn" thoughts. My tangential thinking had caused me many a sleepless night and Tony seemed to star in them more often than not.

The warmth inside the church was making me a bit drowsy now that the children's performance was over. They must have exited stage left when I was worrying about Tony's future departure. I tried to focus on the happenings around me, not the ones percolating inside my own head. The proximity of Tony's strong shoulder began to distract me- I needed only to lower myself by a few inches and I'd be able to rest against him, letting the drowsy warmth and his closeness overtake me. It was almost one in the morning and I'd had a long day; fatigue was beating my will to stay awake. I stifled a yawn and tried to focus on the Christmas message being spoken by the marble-eyed priest.

"Hey, Angela. You're gonna want to be awake for this next part. Sister Mary Francis is gonna sing. She could have been a great soprano", Tony informed me with a sharp poke to the shoulder. I nodded, not really believing him. However, all my doubts fell to the floor when this tiny bird-like woman perched herself at front of the church. Her rendition of _O Holy Night_ gave me goose bumps. When the choir joined in with their angelic voices, _sans_ Mrs. Santori, I felt transported. I closed my eyes and hummed along quietly, letting the glorious music course through my spirit and moisten my eyes. _Joy to the World_ followed _O Holy Night_ and I smiled through my tears.

"Eh? What did I tell you?" Tony whispered to me when the songs were over. I blinked away a tear and turned to look at him, suddenly feeling quite emotional.

"Tony, that was so lovely. I haven't felt this moved by music in a long time." And moved I was. I wanted to move in more closely toward him and bury my face in his chest. I wanted to kiss his face, run my hands through his hair and cry or laugh against him. The intense ache of longing that I felt for him overpowered me at times. Shortly after my life-altering session with Dr. Bellows following the street fair, I'd been overwhelmed by a desire so strong that it had literally sucked the breath out of me. Tony had been doing nothing out of the ordinary—simply preparing dinner. I'd come into the kitchen and observed him, unseen for a moment. Merely watching his back, his arms and his fluid, graceful movements. I loved this man. And he was in my kitchen. I'd longed to walk up to him and run my hands along his back and arms and kiss his neck. I'd visualized the encounter, while standing dumbly at the doorway unmoving. My incredible powers of restraint had impressed me for in the end I hadn't budged from my spot, a safe distance away from him. And that's when I realized I was in trouble. How long could I sublimate these feelings or keep them hidden from him? What kind of superhuman willpower would I need? And I panicked. Tony had remained completely oblivious to my presence but unbeknownst to him, a seismic shift in our relationship had just crashed through our kitchen.

And now, he was happily staring at me—unaware. He had no idea how badly I wanted to fling myself against him and feel his arms around me. Instead, I shot him a bright smile and thanked him for bringing me to the service once again. He smiled back then turned around to face the front of the church. My secret was safe for now but my heart was in freefall, dangerously airborne beyond my control.

XXXXX

"Shhhhhh", I warned him unnecessarily as we entered the house. It was nearly two in the morning; Mother and the kids had gone to bed. They'd forgotten to leave on any lights save the tiny ones round the Christmas tree that greeted us now.

"Hey Angela, we have to put the kids' presents under the tree for tomorrow morning", Tony reminded me as I removed my coat. I shivered; the house temperature had been lowered for the night.

"I have one more to wrap", I admitted to him feeling a bit sheepish about waiting 'till the last second. "Tony, would you mind putting the kettle on please? I need a hot drink", I said as I headed upstairs to wrap the last present. It was my gift to Tony; a warm cashmere scarf and elegant leather gloves. Expensive stuff from Bloomingdale's yet somehow insufficient. I'd actually had a bit of a dilemma about what to get him and how much to spend. The scarf and gloves ended up costing roughly a hundred dollars, which was more than he'd ever spend on himself for such items. Yet I knew that if I spent more, the potential of him perceiving it as a handout might wound his pride. I had to walk a fine line with him; he wasn't my husband after all. So, I'd chosen good quality items he could use and given him a generous Christmas bonus. For Samantha, however, I'd gone a bit crazy with my spending. I'd always wanted a little girl of my own and couldn't resist buying her an entire outfit, the newest _Duran Duran_ record and a bottle of perfume. In my room, I quickly wrapped Tony's gift and changed into my warm holiday PJ's with their festive reindeer motif. My pink bunny slippers completed the comfy outfit and I quietly headed downstairs, my arms full of presents.

Tony was standing in front of the tree, silently admiring it. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. I observed him for a moment but my arms were laden with too many parcels which needed to go under the tree before they slipped out of my tenuous grasp.

"Penny for your thoughts", I said as I laid down the gifts in front of his socked feet. I knew it was a trite expression but couldn't help myself.

"Oh hey, Angela. I'm heating up some mulled wine for us. That'll warm you up", he turned around to look at me and grinned widely. "Cute pyjamas, Angela! You all ready for Santa?" he teased me.

"Oh, I don't know, Tony. Maybe I was too naughty to make it onto Santa's list this year." _Whoa, where did that come from?_ I had to be careful what I said around him but fatigue, intense physical desire and lusty thoughts had been my constant companions all evening. So yes, as a matter of fact I did feel NAUGHTY. I pretended that I hadn't just said something stupid and busied myself rearranging the gifts under the tree, avoiding his puzzled gaze.

"Whaddya talking about, Angela? I don't get it" he replied, the confusion evident on his face.

"It's nothing, Tony. Just a silly joke", I dismissed my own words and his question with a little wave of my hand.

"Okay then", he said uncertainly. "Let's have the mulled wine, shall we?" I nodded and followed him into the kitchen, vowing to keep my inner thoughts on the inside. Loose lips sink ships, I reminded myself.

"One for you and one for me", he chanted as he poured the fragrant hot wine into mugs.

"This is decadent stuff, Tony. Did you put cinnamon in here?" It smelled so delicious like oranges, cloves, cinnamon and something fruity.

"I did, Angela. Go ahead and try it", he encouraged, eyes wide as he waited for me to drink.

Oh, so yummy. I took careful sips of the sweet, steaming liquid and closed my eyes as its delectable warmth spread through me. "Tony, this is so tasty. I love it", I told him.

"Good. Now how about we drink it in front of the Christmas tree? It'll be very festive. Come on", he beckoned me. I was quite sleepy yet relished being alone with Tony in the middle of the night. My fatigue simply made me feel lazy and warm like a cat stretched out in front of the fire. We sat on the floor in front of the tree, entranced by its light in the darkened room. The holiday spirit was alive and well as we quietly sipped our mulled wine together.

"Did you put rum in here, Tony?" I was in an otherworldly dreamlike state; my head floating above my body somewhere, drowsy and content.

"Did I?" he asked all innocently. His dark eyes were filled with mirth and shone back at me, reflecting hundreds of tiny tree lights. He was simply beautiful. Even though I knew I was staring at him, I couldn't seem to look away. His sensual lips and masculine features drew me in, mesmerized me. Was I making him uncomfortable? He was gazing back at me, an unfathomable expression on his face. We sat there stupidly staring at each other until I worried that he was simply waiting for me to blink first. I looked down at my mug and took another sip of mulled wine instead.

"You know, Angela", he began hesitating a bit. "It means a lot to me that Sam and I are in a family at Christmas time. The three Christmases after Marie's death, it was just her and me. Sure, we'd see Mrs. Rossini but on Christmas morning my little girl was all by herself opening only one present. It was kinda depressin'. The worst Christmas ever was the one before we came to Connecticut 'cause my dad had just died. Poor Sam—I was too miserable to celebrate." Tony looked forlornly at his feet for a moment.

"I'm so sorry Tony. Sounds like that was a really difficult time. I'm so glad that you and Samantha came here; it means so much to Jonathan and me as well- to have you both here. Feels like family. Can't say that the Christmas after Michael left was any fun either. He left us in December; talk about terrible timing. Jonathan was only seven years old and couldn't understand why his dad wasn't coming home. The poor kid bawled for two days straight. Worst Christmas of my life too", I admitted to him.

"So, Christmas of 1983 was a barrel of laughs for both of us then", he declared a bit too harshly.

"But Tony, that was one bad Christmas. The last three have been wonderful with you and Samantha here. It's made all the difference", I reassured him. The rum in my mulled wine was making me feel somewhat less inhibited. "Tony, to have suffered one lousy Christmas was worth it to have you here now . . . you and Sam" I told him. I boldly put my hand on his arm and gave it a gentle rub, enjoying the sensation of his hard bicep beneath my fingers. He turned to me, a slow smile gradually lighting up his sombre features.

"I wish you'd spent last Christmas with us Angela", he blatantly stated, while carefully not mentioning my ex-boyfriend.

"Me too, Tony", I replied. It was beginning to feel warm in the room; our eyes were locked for a heartbeat making me blush.

"It's late Angela, we should go to bed", he yawned suddenly. I had to stifle a smile because his mention of going to bed spurred more naughty thoughts in my head.

"Okay Tony, let's go to bed", I smirked. He raised an eyebrow at me but didn't say anything. Instead, he helped me stand up. I was definitely under the heady effects of the spiked wine and stumbled against him.

"You alright Angela?"

"I'm fine . . . just tired and a bit tipsy. Really should get some sleep because the kids will be up early wanting to open their presents", I reminded him. I waited for his response but he was staring upwards, a half-grin on his face. I followed his gaze and saw it-the mistletoe. We were standing right beneath it, pressed against each other since I was leaning against him. My heart began hammering in my chest; was he going to kiss me? I stood up straighter, readying myself for a potential lip lock. Our last kiss had been in his van after my peculiar date with _Jake the Snake_—my pathetic attempt to relive some teenaged frivolity. Tony had "rescued" me from that bad date, looked at my crumpled little wish list and asked me what that last item on it was. _Make out at Inspiration Point. _ God, I was stupid. Of course I couldn't relive a crazy adolescence because I hadn't had one and regretting it was pointless. He'd kissed me though. Whether it was out of pity, to give me a sense of completion or because he desired it, was still something I wondered about. It had been one kiss; one fantastic, open-mouthed, tender kiss. And then it was over and he was cleaning my glasses. I'd felt bereft, craving more-needing more from him. But we'd driven home in silence and absolutely nothing had changed between us.

He was studying me now, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Look Angela, we're standing under the mistletoe", he pointed out.

"So we are". I looked up at him a bit shyly and hopefully. This was crazy—here I was a 36-year old woman feeling like a teenager about to receive her first kiss. That he'd actually _been_ my first kiss all those years ago was such a strange fluke of circumstances that I couldn't help but wonder if it was FATE that had reunited us again twenty years later.

I didn't have to wonder much longer; his warm hand cupped my cheek as he swiftly leaned in towards me, eyes closed. His lips pressed against mine ever so softly but I wanted more than two mouths bumping in the night. Before he had a chance to pull away, I put my arms around him and parted my lips ever so slightly against his. He responded and began kissing me back, tasting of cinnamon, cloves and mulled wine. The current of his kiss shot down into my tummy and then lower. My entire body was responding to him; I moaned slightly and ran my hands through his soft hair, lightly pulling and stroking it. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me more tightly, while continuing his welcome assault on my lips. I treated his mouth like the most delectable candy, sucking, licking, probing and crushing it against mine. My pulse raced and I could feel his heart pounding through my reindeer pyjamas. His kiss was passionate; I could feel his desire pressing against my thigh. Dared I hope? But it wasn't to be, yet. He pulled away and looked at me with dilated eyes, somewhat embarrassed. He was shifting his body away, clearly trying to hide the evidence of his arousal. I pretended that I hadn't noticed anything and smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas Tony."

"Merry Christmas Angela." His voice was a bit high but he composed himself again and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

We went upstairs, each to our separate bedrooms but a shift had occurred in our slowly moving relationship once again. And now I knew one thing for certain; he did desire me. Next year, I'd be sure to put that mistletoe up again. Perhaps add a few more; one in the kitchen, one in the living room, one in the upstairs hallway . . . I giggled to myself, still tasting his honeyed, cinnamon kiss. It was a Merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
